


write love (on my heart)

by zielschmerz



Category: Atypical (TV 2017)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Pen Pals, characters will be updated in the tags as I go, hope ya'll enjoy this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21626392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zielschmerz/pseuds/zielschmerz
Summary: Her whole life has always been about Sam, but for once in her life, she chooses herself first. Being at a new school and with a new team, the loneliness has never felt more palpable. Through a class project, she finds comfort and company in the most unlikely place.orthe enemies to lovers au with a pen pal twist on the side.
Relationships: Casey Gardner & Izzie, Casey Gardner/Izzie
Comments: 15
Kudos: 69





	write love (on my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> characters belong to atypical, but the story is mine.
> 
> wrote this chapter to "Ja må du leva" by Darin. feel free to listen to it as you go.

Casey is regretting it. She’s regretting every decision she’s ever made about transferring to Clayton Prep, and of course, the one day she wakes up late happens to be the day that the team captain chooses to do an early morning practice. Even her love for running isn’t enough to save her from the foul mood today.

She _really_ doesn’t want to be here.

Looking ahead, she sees Izzie leading the team for their warm-up laps, but she’s at least half a lap ahead of everyone. It’s a mystery to her, probably also everyone else, why Izzie always runs this fast. Her running form perfect, with straightened backs and long strides, it’s as if she never gets tired.

Casey is so annoyed by her, it almost pains her to admit this – Izzie is quite the epitome of perfect, from sports to academics to social standing, she is the first of everything. 

Her perfect grades, perfect boyfriend, and perfect reputation make it hard to find flaws with her, except when she becomes a major bitch whenever Casey comes within 1 feet vicinity of her.

“Newton,” _ah, there she goes again_ , “stop running this close to me, I can smell the stench from your trashy school rubbing off on me,” the disdain practically _drips_ off of her words, and Casey’s steps falters for a second.

“Holy shit, what’s your problem?”

“Just go home. You’ll never fit in with us.”

Casey bites her lips so hard that she can feel the sting of blood on her tongue, and her mind goes through a dozen different ways to throttle her. Determined to prove herself, Casey sprints ahead past Izzie, her legs moving on its own accord and it feels like she’s running on a motor.

This warm-up becomes a race, both of them running to disprove the other. Her whole body is screaming at her to stop, because she has never tried sprinting this long distance before but she knows she can’t slow down. She _has_ to prove Izzie wrong. Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Izzie catch up just as she’s nearing the finishing line. Casey pushes her whole momentum forward, a very dangerous move, and comes first. Turning around to face Izzie, Casey replies, her eyes burning with indignation. 

“I might not be one of you, but you _need_ me.”

* * *

It’s only been two weeks at Clayton Prep, Casey has already concluded that the lectures here are unnecessarily difficult and _boring_. It’s a lecture on creative writing, and she doesn’t know why she decides to take this class.

Sparing a glance around the room, she sees Izzie smile flirtatiously at Nate, one of the most popular guys at school, while keeping her hands on his wrist as if staking a claim. Casey mentally pats herself on the back for containing the scoff that almost escapes her lips, and rolls her eyes in disgust at their public display of affection.

“Good morning, everyone, “the teacher, Ms. Coon, greets the class as she walks in, “I hope you are all excited because we are starting a new group project today!”

The collective groan that resonates within the classroom is the first time Casey has ever seen this school be _that_ united, and it makes her smile a little.

“We’re starting a pen-pal program right here in our own class room,” she continues,” we’ll be doing it anonymously in which every person will have their own number. The goal of this project is for you to learn more about your classmates and, at the end of the semester, you’ll be turning in a ten-page essay on how this project has changed you.”

Ms. Coon starts walking down the aisle to collect everyone’s number and asks each person to pick one from the bowl. Casey quickly jots down _314_ , and folds the paper twice _just in case_ before placing it back. Her heart racing, she pulls a small sheet of paper and regards it with trepidation as if it could bite.

She waits until everyone receives their own paper before unfolding it. Scanning around the room, she accidentally locks eyes with Izzie from the across the room. Izzie’s gaze snaps away immediately and turns her head back to Nate, her movement almost giving Casey a whiplash.

Casey unfolds the paper gently, and her eyebrows raise in surprise. _It could be a coincidence_ , she thinks, _but what are the chance they have it down to the dot?_

Her hand smooths over the paper, making sure she read it right. The number _9.85_ written in large font and stares at it in wonder. 

Her partner might actually be from the track team.

* * *

Izzie will never admit this to anyone, but she actually finds this project interesting.

She spends the whole day after class thinking about how to start the letter. Scratching one line after the other, none of her words sound right to her. The hand on her shoulder jolts her back to reality, and she stuffs the paper away.

Nate gives her an odd look before pulling her in for a peck, she tries to not shrink away from his touch, but everywhere he has touched burns and she ends up turning her face away on the pretense of putting her book away.

“Nate,” Izzie forces a smile, “don’t you have class this period?”

“I snuck out,” he smirks and leans closer,” I just wanted to see my favorite girl.”

“Yeah, yeah, I miss you too,” the smell of his cologne chokes her, and she reaches out to push him back lightly, her smile becomes more strained by the second,” you should get back before you get caught.”

Nate opens his mouth to reply, but gets cut off by Casey brashly opening her locker. Izzie looks over her shoulder, and catches Casey staring right back. Her eyes fill with suppressed irritation at the sight of them, somehow it sits uncomfortably in Izzie’s chest.

“Can you two lovebirds do this somewhere else?” 

“How about you hurry along and leave?” she snarks back, and the discomfort grows. 

Casey slams her locker with so much strength, the vibration from the force leaves the lockers quaking for few seconds before turning on her heels and walks away.

“God, I fucking hate this school.”

* * *

It weighs heavily on her chest.

Izzie doesn’t know what it is, but it leaves her gasping for breath sometimes. It intensifies whenever she looks at Casey, and it drives her insane.

Casey Gardner is one of the most complex puzzles she has ever met, and she’s usually a sucker for solving them. So, she does the next best thing.

She runs.

The wind is rushing past her ears and the beat of her music matches the thumping of her steps as she runs lap after lap, desperately trying to clear her head. She must’ve run for hours because when she finally stops, the sky is dark and it feels a touch bit cooler. 

For a little while, it works – her body feels free and exhilarated after the run. Moving over to the bleachers, she sits down, wincing as she takes her shoes off and sees her socks tainted red from the blood.

 _It’s a small price to be paid,_ she thinks.

Izzie rustles through her pockets for tissues, band-aids, or anything to stop the bleeding. The only thing she finds is the paper with _314_ written on it from where she stuffed it earlier. The paper feels warm in her hands, like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold night.

She reaches for a pencil and notebook out of her backpack, hands hovering over the first line, still unsure of how to start the letter. The nagging voice in the back of her mind grows louder by the second, and she almost drops the pencil in frustration. 

Tired of second guessing herself, Izzie throws caution into the wind.

_“Hey Pen Pal,_

_I guess we’re really doing this….”_

And, so she starts.

**Author's Note:**

> come bother me @ heyluthor on tumblr and gush with me about how soft these two babies are.


End file.
